Lovers
by MadameAngel
Summary: READ BEFORE READING: I have no plans to finish this story, but I haven't the heart to take it down.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This is my version of the story of the Scarlet Pimpernel. Based off the movie, starting at my fav scene: Lord Greneville's ball. It's a Marguerite/Paul (Chauvelin) pairing, so if you don't like that, read at your own risk. Reviews are welcome, flames are not. This story will be told mostly from Margot's perspective with Paul's and Percy's thrown in occasionally. I've just decided to make this story not a one-shot, so let me know what you think!

LOVERS Chapter One: A Pimpernel Discovered 

**-----------------------------------**

Lady Marguerite Blakeney walked slowly to the empty corridor where Paul Chauvelin was waiting. She tried not to stare into his emerald eyes as he watched her approach.

"There was only a fragment left by the time I got to it," she whispered quickly. She could still feel Paul's eyes on her.

"Could you make anything out?" he whispered back. She could hear the passion in his voice, as much as he tried to disguise it.

"It said, 'Leave for France tonight. Meet me in the library at midnight for your instructions.' "

"The signature. How was it signed?"

"It wasn't signed. There was only the symbol of a small flower."

"The Scarlet Pimpernel." A slow smile spread across Paul's thin lips. "In the library at midnight. You have done well, my dear," he said, turning towards her, "very well indeed. Remarkable how we compliment each other. But then, we always did."

He reached out and ran his finger down her jaw, turning her face towards him. As she gazed into his eyes, his hand slid slowly down to her shoulder. Against her will, her hands crept up his chest.

Suddenly his grip on her shoulder tightened as he pulled her into him, kissing her with more passion than he ever had before. He moved over her to trap her against the wall with his body. Despite Marguerite's mind screaming at her that she was married to Percy, she reached around his neck to pull him closer. As she did so, a shrill voice rang across the corridor.

"So this is where you're hiding." A plump woman was striding towards them." You promised me the next jig, you naughty boy."

Paul quickly turned around so that the plump woman did not have time to see Marguerite. Numbly, Marguerite watched them go. As she reached up to touch her lips where Paul had kissed her, one solitary thought wormed it's way into her mind: The library, midnight.

**------------------------------**

As various giddy faces swirled by, Paul caught a glance at the clock. 11:55. In five minutes, the Scarlet Pimpernel would be in the library. As he danced, he entertained fantasies of the Pimpernel's capture. As the clock began to strike, Paul disentangled himself from the dancers, escaping the ballroom just as the clock struck twelve.

He strode into the library, but a quick glance around told him all he needed to know. The library was deserted. A draft from the open window brushed his check. He walked over to it, but the balcony, stairs, and garden were deserted. A quiet snore drifted across the room. Paul turned to find Sir Percival Blakeney stretched out on the couch. Seeing the fop asleep without a care in the world, and Paul almost laughed out loud. What would Percy say if he knew Paul had just kissed his wife? Or, even better, what Percy say if he knew his wife had kissed Paul back?

Paul turned to go, and as he did, something on the floor caught his eye. Picking it up, he recognized it as one of Marguerite's earrings. Bringing it to his face, breathing in her sweet scent, he realized two things: Marguerite had been her and warned the Pimpernel that he, Paul, would be here, and therefore the fop was the Scarlet Pimpernel.

Paul spun on his heel and walked back to the window. The garden was, he noticed upon a second look, not deserted. Marguerite was sitting on a bench in a far corner of the garden, looking up at the window where Paul stood.

**----------------------------------------**

When Marguerite looked up at the library window, she saw Paul silhouetted there, watching her. As she looked, he stepped out of the window and onto the balcony. Still watching her, he descended the stairs and crossed the garden to sit by her.

"I found this in the library," he said quietly, holding up her earring. "How careless of you to have dropped it."

"Thank you," Marguerite replied, taking the earring.

"So, you knew all along, didn't you." It was more a statement than a question.

"Knew what?" asked Marguerite, confused.

"That your husband, my dear, is the Scarlet Pimpernel," Paul said silkily. Marguerite gasped.

"I did not know," she said.

"He never told you? And yet, he told your brother."

"Armand?"

"The very same." Paul brought a letter out of his coat pocket. "This letter is addressed to him, signed by the Scarlet Pimpernel. Evidently, he does not trust you as much as it seems. Neither of them do."

Marguerite sighed. Her brother, and, come to think of it, probably all of the servants at the Blakeny manor, had the confidence of her husband, and she, his wife, did not. A tear slipped down her cheek and she began to cry.

"My dear, if I knew this would distress you so, I would not have mentioned it," Paul whispered. At this Marguerite cried harder, knowing that although Percy was her husband, he did not trust her. Yet Paul, who now would never be her husband, trusted and loved her completely. Did Percy even love her anymore? Marguerite had no idea. Paul reached out and wiped a tear from Marguerite's cheek. "I'm sorry," he said.

"No, Paul, I should be sorry, for the way I spoke to you thins morning. What I said, I didn't mean it. I guess I was trying to make it true, by saying it." She was, of course, referring to that morning when she had insisted that Paul had never been quite good enough for her.

"It's quite alright, my dear," Paul said, taking Marguerite's hand in his. Just then, a voice rang through the stillness to reach their corner of the garden.

"Marguerite, darling, the carriage has arrived." Marguerite and Paul looked up. Percy was standing on the balcony, looking at the sky.

"I'm sorry, Paul, I must go. Thank you," Marguerite said quickly. Paul nodded and stood, leading Marguerite to the balcony stairs.

"Good night, my dearest," he whispered, kissing her cheek lightly.

Marguerite reached the top of the stairs and turned to wave farewell, but Paul had gone. She turned and smiled at Percy, content, for now, to let him take her arm and lead her back through the library, and home to the Blakeney manor.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Chapter two is started, just one day after I've finished chapter one. I'm on a writing spree as of late. I'd like to dedicate this chapter to my newfound friend, **Citizen Chauvelin**. Her stories have inspired me and I now have an idea as to where this one will go. Enjoy it! I'm going camping on Thursday, but I'll try to write chapter three while I'm away.

Lovers Chapter Two: The Finest Actress In All of Europe 

When Marguerite reached her bedroom on the third floor of the Blakeney manor, she found that someone was already there. Paul was standing by the window, robed in shadow. The sight of him sent chills up and down her back, just as it always had. Dimly, she heard Percy talking to someone in the library. In a quiet voice, she asked Paul what he was doing there.

"Dearest," he replied, "is it a crime to want to see the woman I love?" Marguerite's eyes widened. Paul loved her. In all the years he had been her lover, he had never said those words, until now, when she belonged to another man. As these words sank in, Marguerite half-ran to Paul and threw her arms about his neck.

"You do love me!" she cried quietly. "All those years, when we were together in France, I was never quite sure."

"Be sure now, my dear, that I love you with all my heart. I'm sure that fool you call your husband could not say the same, for he trusts others more than you, does he not?" Paul's breath was warm on her neck, and Marguerite found herself slowly losing grip of everything she knew, everything but the man who stood before her now.

"Please, Paul, do not mention Percy again. The pain this causes me, to realize he does not love me, I cannot bear it."

"Forget Percy," Paul said smoothly. "Forget every man you've ever known, except me." At Paul's words, Marguerite remembered when Percy had said the very same thing to her, and how she had loved him then. She did not feel the same towards him now. "Come back to France with me, dearest, and the world will be ours once again."

Marguerite struggled to hold on to reality as Paul kissed her neck lightly. "Percy," she said. "Percy will wonder. And as much as I know I cannot love someone I cannot trust, I still care for the man."

"Well, then, Margot, get him to tell you himself that he is the Pimpernel. Then make an excuse to come to France. Heaven knows that if any woman could do that, that woman is you, for you are the finest actress in all of Europe." Marguerite nodded.

"I will get it out of him tonight, and meet you here, at the manor, in the rose garden, tomorrow at noon," Marguerite promised. Chauvelin kissed her again before picking up his hat and cloak and striding to the door. "Wait," Marguerite said urgently. "Let me go first and make sure Percy isn't about."

After making sure that Percy was still in the library, Marguerite led Paul to the door, bidding him goodnight.

"Until tomorrow, my love," he replied.

Smiling, Marguerite knocked on the door of the library, which stood slightly ajar. From inside she could hear the voices of Percy, Tony Dewhurst, and Andrew Ffoulkes.

"We can't leave for France tonight, men," Percy was saying. "Chauvelin knows who I am now, and he'll be leaving for France soon, he'll catch me then."

Marguerite, certain she was not supposed to be hearing this, knocked again, louder.

"Marguerite, darling!" Percy exclaimed, opening the door to allow her entry. "Have you need of anything?"

"I do have a question for you, Percy," Marguerite said slowly, eyeing Tony and Andrew with apparent embarrassment. _Oh,_ she thought, _this is going to be too easy…_. "But it's a bit, well, personal." Percy turned towards Tony and Andrew and raised an eyebrow.

"Sink me!" Percy said with a slight smile. "Gentlemen, we will finish our discussion tomorrow. My lady wishes to make an inquiry." Turning to Marguerite, he held out his hands to her. She took them, and, standing up on her toes, kissed Percy's lips. Percy made a surprised noise, then scooped her up in his arms and swung her around. Setting her down, he asked, "Now, milady, what is it you wanted to ask me?"

"Nothing, Percy. But how else was I supposed to get them to leave?"

"Leave, darling?"

"Yes, Percy. A wife should be entitled to some time alone with her husband, should she not?" Marguerite smiled coyly, looking up at her husband through her eyelashes.

"And yet, love, I sense there is a question in your mind."

Marguerite simply smiled and took Percy's hand, leading him upstairs. On the way to Percy's quarters, she asked, "I do have a question Percy. Do you love me?"

"Yes, my darling, I love you with all my heart," Percy said. Marguerite looked into his eyes, and she saw curiosity, and secrets, and love. And yet she knew now that Percy was an actor. He could make people believe whatever he wanted them to. And now he was trying to make her believe he loved her. _The fool!_ She heard Paul's voice in her mind. _He lies to your face, darling. Never trust him again_.

"Show me," Marguerite said earnestly. She knew that if she could get Percy to let his guard down, even for a moment, he would tell her the truth. Upon reaching Percy's quarters, she turned and brought her lips to his again. As he kissed her, his hands found the ties on the back of her dress. As he undid them, Marguerite tried to lose herself in his touch, the way she had done with Chauvelin's, as a last test of her love for him, but she could not. She kept remembering how he had spoken to her that morning when he said, "What has poor Armand done to be condemned to matrimony?"

"Percy?" she said breathlessly

"Yes, darling?" Percy said, in between kisses.

"You're the Scarlet Pimpernel, aren't you?" Percy stopped kissing her abruptly. Pulling back, he gazed into her face.

"What makes you think that, love?"

"Percy, I love you dearly, did you not think I would recognize your voice?" Marguerite said, lying through her teeth.

"Yes, love, the Pimpernel is me." As he said this, Percy let a forlorn expression take over his features.

"Darling, you look so distressed. Have I upset you?"

"No, Marguerite, I am relieved to have told you at last. Why did you bring this up now, though?"

"Well, I did just meet you in the library, darling, at the ball. I didn't know before then," Marguerite stopped, trying to plaster an uncomfortable and nervous look on her face. "There is another reason as well. Chauvelin knows. You know he knows, I told you in the library. But when we arrived home tonight," Marguerite paused, her mind working quickly to give her a story, "When we arrived home tonight, Chauvelin was in my room. He's captured my brother, unless I spy for him, Chauvelin will kill him." This bit was, in fact, partly true. Chauvelin did know Armand as in league with the Pimpernel, and he was _going_ to kill him, unless he knew the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel. Armand was now safe, but Percy didn't have to know that, Marguerite decided.

"Armand?"

"The very same." Marguerite tried to hide her smirk as she repeated Paul's words.

"I must go back to France immediately!" Percy said intensely. "Armand is one of my most valuable men, I cannot lose him, I—"

"Hush, darling," Marguerite said, placing her fingers over Percy's mouth. "It would not be wise to go to France now, Chauvelin will be expecting you. Send me to France. As the best actress in the country, I can assure you, Chauvelin will not suspect a thing. He's under the impression that—well, let's just say I can easily fool him."

"Marguerite, this is too dangerous for you. I cannot risk your life as well as Armand's. Please, love, do not go to France."

"Percy, I must. Armand is my brother, and Chauvelin was my lover, years ago. I can do this, please trust me." Marguerite stared into Percy's eyes.

Percy stared back. After a full minute, he quietly said, "Very well, you may go to France to save your brother."

"Thank you, Percy," Marguerite said, hugging him tightly. "You don't know what this means to me, to be able you help you and save my brother. And now, where were we?"

She reached up to kiss Percy, but he took her hands and kissed them and said, "I'm sorry, Marguerite, not tonight." He walked over to the window and looked out. Marguerite turned and left the room without another word.

When she reached her bedroom, she threw up her hands and spun, her skirts swirling about her. She felt happy, and excited, the way she always did when she pulled off a successful performance. As she washed her face and changed into her nightdress, she wondered vaguely what in the world she was doing. She was willingly leaving her husband for another man, something she would have never considered doing at any point in her life. Yet here she was. She pondered over the evening, remembering the excitement she had felt around Chauvelin, and the betrayal she felt from Percy, and realized that she did not love her husband at all.

As Marguerite lay on top of her bedclothes the only thing she thought was of Chauvelin, of when he had kissed her at the ball. She knew he desired her, she could always read it in his eyes. And although she would admit it to no one, she desired him too. She had never forgotten his love, not even when Percy stepped in. She had never forgotten him, despite Percy telling her to forget every man she had ever known, and even now the mere sight of him sent her reeling. His emerald eyes could read her soul, and the slightest touch captivated her. His mystery and darkness intrigued her. He excited her, and frightened her, made her nervous, and she was completely in love with him.

As she slept, she dreamed of him. Dreamed what it would be like when she sailed back to France with him, the things they would do…

"Margot, get down here, don't make me come up after you!" Paul was standing on the main deck of the ship, smiling up at Marguerite, who was standing at the top of a small staircase. At Paul's words, she stepped up onto the railing and jumped into his arms. He caught her and kissed her and swung her around. She glanced over his shoulder and saw Percy standing where she had been, looking down on her with a look of utter rage. She simply smirked and turned her back on him, forever… 


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I'm so sorry this took so long to update! I had to be inspired, and last night I had a dream, and the dream inspired me! So here's the chapter, and don't hate me too bad for not updating in forever. This chapter's a little dull because I was writing through writer's block. Please read and review!!

**LOVERS**

**Chapter Three:**

When Marguerite awoke the next morning, Percy was standing at the foot of her bed.

"Marguerite, I expect you're leaving for France today, am I right?" he asked when she looked up at him.

"Yes," she replied, blinking in the bright sunlight that was flooding into her room. "Chauvelin is very strict in his demands. If I do not sail back with him tonight… Well, I don't want to find out what that might drive him to do."

"Well, darling, I can't help being a bit wary of him. If he was, as you say, your lover, then don't you think me may try again to, shall we say, take you to his bed, as he once did? If he is under the impression that you care for him, he might."

"Percy, I have considered this, and I am sure of myself. I will not let Chauvelin do anything to me."

"Just be careful, my dear," Percy said, before turning and leaving her room, closing the door behind him with a sharp click. Marguerite stretched gleefully. She swung her long legs off the side of her bed and stood up, her long brown curls falling elegantly down her back. She walked over to her dressing table and picked up her hairbrush. As she ran it through her hair, she mentally made a list of the things she would have to take to France, including her stage makeup and money to buy more costume supplies, should she need them.

When her hair was sufficiently smooth, she unfastened her nightdress and changed into her light under dress. One of the maidservants came and helped her lace up her corset. Marguerite opened her wardrobe and pushed all of her dresses aside. In the back corner there was a black dress that Paul had bought for her, years ago. The bodice was entirely opaque black lace, and the full skirt was satin with a black lace overlay.

Once she had finished tying the back of the dress with a large satin ribbon, she went downstairs to join Percy for breakfast. His eyes widened when he saw her. She smirked, unsurprised. This dress was by far the most low-cut of any of her dresses, and was a much darker color than anything she had worn since meeting Percy. She smiled at the contrast: The Pimpernel, adorned in one of his most foppish outfits, a powder blue ensemble, with his hair pulled neatly back, whereas Marguerite was wearing a dark dress, with her hair loose, curling down to her waist.

Breakfast was a hurried affair. Percy ate quickly, explaining that he had to meet Andrew and Tony to "discuss…erm…strategies." Marguerite couldn't eat much, her stomach was too full of butterflies to hold much more than one buttered muffin.

After she had finished eating, Marguerite left the house and wandered the grounds, thinking of nothing in particular. Without noticing, she stopped walking in the heart of the rose garden. She sat down on the little bench there, staring at a single red rose that was blooming. She leaned back, resting against the side armrest of the bench. She closed her eyes and sighed. In a few hours, she would be sailing for France, with Paul, and would be rid of the fop, at least for a little while.

She felt a draft on her neck, and then a pair of warm lips caressed her skin. Two slender hands slid over her shoulders, down her chest, and rested around her waist.

"Hello, my love," said Paul Chauvelin's voice. His breath was warm against her neck.

"Hello," she said quietly, turning her head slightly. He ran his lips softly down her neck, and kissed her lightly on the collarbone.

"Tell me, my dear, how does the Pimpernel feel about you leaving with me tonight?" Paul asked. Marguerite struggled to remember, for the warmth of Paul's body so close to hers, and his lips against her skin, were beginning to distract her.

"He...gave his permission," she said. She felt Paul's lips part in a smile against her skin. He kissed her again, and then helped her to her feet. Still standing behind her, he ran his hands down the sides of her waist, down to her hips, and pulled her body against his. He gently ran the tip of his tongue up her neck, to her ear, causing chills to course down her spine. One hand made its way lazily up to her chest, and rested just above the neckline of her dress, one finger tracing the neckline gently. He kept this up for a while, reveling in the sound of Marguerite's breathing growing faster and shallower with every stroke.

"Paul," she breathed. He shushed her and sat down on the little bench, pulling her down next to him. She turned to face him. His emerald eyes strayed from her chocolate brown eyes, which were burning, to her lips, which were parted invitingly. He placed one hand on the her back, and the other on her knee, and pulled her against him, kissing her slowly. His hand slid up her knee, bringing her skirt with it, until the flesh of her knee was exposed. He caressed her thigh gently, slowly moving upward. His mouth left hers, and kissed a small trail down to her throat. She leaned back against the arm of the bench, and he leaned over her, kissing the hollow of her neck tenderly.

Her hands moved over his face, his hair, his neck, his chest, exploring him again, as though this were the first time. She untied his cravat, and undid the buttons on his shirt, flinging them to the ground. His well-experienced hands wrapped around her, slowly unlacing the satin ribbon of her dress. He pushed it from her shoulders, exposing the tight corset below, her bosom heaving with each breath. She arched her back, pressing her body against his. He kneeled above her on the hard stone bench, his hands simultaneously pushing her skirts up, and undoing his own trousers.

The bench was cold and hard against her back, but she could not feel it. All she could feel, all she could see, taste, smell, was _him. _He was everywhere, within her, around her, his face buried in her neck, her fingernails digging into his back. She bit her lip to keep from crying out in ecstasy.

Moments later, they both collapsed, breathing raggedly. He kissed her neck gently, where, seconds earlier, he had bitten her. A small bruise was forming there. He pushed himself off her, and stood up. After dressing himself, he helped her re-tie her dress. He kissed her again, and then whispered,

"Tonight, at the dock, at seven o'clock. I love you." And then he was gone


End file.
